


a cold, cold man

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Saint Motel, Songfic, lots of mentions of Brendon urie LOL, something short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 02:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10234040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: Oh my love, I know I am a cold, cold man(OR: Pete's not good at compliments... not good at public displays of affection... not good at words... but at the end of the day, the only bed worth sleeping in is the one right next to Patrick)(entirely based off of "cold, cold man" by saint motel)





	

**Author's Note:**

> (something really kinda short, cause i got a random burst of inspiration)

_Oh my love,_

_I know I am a cold, cold man_

_Quite slow to pay you compliments..._

It’s a rare occasion when Patrick _doesn’t_ blow Pete away with his talent.

Between the glorious melodies that stick in Pete’s head as he drives down the highway, between the the way that Patrick can play bass lines far better than Pete and his years of practice ever could, between the choruses, between the way his fingers slide across a piano, between the, between the, between the-

Everything.

Everything Patrick does reminds Pete of sunrise. Sitting in his car at the crack of dawn with the heat blasting and the engine running and the sun slowly rising into the blue skies. The sky turns pink for only a moment, he reaches for his phone, but he never actually takes it out- he just stares in awe.

That’s what Patrick’s talent is like. Like a sunrise so beautiful you can’t even take a picture of it because it would never compare to what you see in front of you.

 

“So?” Patrick asks, blinking at Pete. They’re in their make-shift studio in their home. The heat is on, Penny’s asleep next to Patrick’s feet, and Patrick just played for Pete a snip-bit of a song that Pete can envision people screaming their hearts out to. An outdoor amphitheater on a beach, the smell of salty air, and kids in the pit with their hands in the air.

“So…” Pete trails off, biting his lower lip. “It’s… um, it’s, it’s-“

Compliments are hard. He’s never sure of the right words to say. Maybe things sound a little too desperate, a little too crazy. Or maybe they’re not enough. Or, like most times, he can’t condense everything he wants to say, he can’t condense everything he feels, into a fucking word. Geez.

“It’s?” Patrick asks, again, but he’s smiling up at Pete a little. Like he knows all his quirks. Pete doesn’t have to compliment him with words- it’s written on his face. The way his eyes, dead tired and bloodshot, light up like they're watching fireworks from the top of Brendon's studio in his backyard.

“It’s good.” Pete says, eventually. He coughs, clears his throat. “It’s good.”

“Thanks.” Patrick brings his hands to Pete’s face, cups his jaw, brings him close, kisses him softly. “I’m glad you like it. Now, how about _this_ one…”

* * *

_...Or public displayed affections_

 For Sarah’s 30th birthday dinner, Meagan invites everyone to dinner. And after dinner, there’s always a get-together. Always. It’s not really polite to get shit-faced in front of strangers at a fancy restaurant.

And as they get up to leave, Brendon drapes his jacket over Sarah’s bare shoulders and his fingers linger on her skin as he dips his face to kiss her cheek.

Elisa and Meagan hold hands as they leave the table, their arms brush against each other, and Meagan’s thumb rubs over Elisa’s hand as they whisper together about something, giggling as they lean close.

Zack- well, Zack’s not really the romantic type either- but even Zack pulls out some moves as he holds his hand out for his girlfriend, helping her step out of her chair. This doesn’t look very necessary. Pete’s sure she can get out of her seat herself. But he’s guessing the whole point is to be romantic, romantic, romantic.

Spencer helps Linda adjust her necklace, Linda swipes a stray crumb off of Spencer’s shirt, Spencer brushes a strand of Linda’s hair out of her face, Linda leans her head on his shoulder as they walk.

And Pete and Patrick just stand, push in their chairs, and walk.

And Pete knows Patrick doesn’t care about that kinda stuff.

But does Pete know Patrick doesn’t care about that kinda stuff?

“I’m so stuffed,” Patrick says, as they don’t hold hands. “I feel like I just ate a horse. Or something. That would be kinda gross.” He says, as they don’t giggle together. “But, people eat horses, don’t they? In different cultures? Maybe I shouldn’t say anything. Maybe it’s a delicacy. I mean, who am I to judge, right?” He says, as Pete doesn’t lean his head on Patrick’s shoulder. “I think all of the food is making me babble.” He says, as they don’t.

But Pete doesn’t want to do any of that romantic stuff. This is what Pete likes, just walking. Because they’re independent people. Because Patrick would probably punch him in the arm if Pete tried to help him out of his seat, and Patrick would just ask if he wanted Pete’s jacket if he were cold.

Pete doesn’t like walking too close. And he doesn’t like kissing when everyone can see.

Everyone kisses and hugs outside of the restaurants before they get into their cars, before they drive away just to see each other 20 minutes later. And Pete mostly stands to the side, and waves.

But their intimacy is in the car.

“Can you wipe my glasses for me? My shirt’s not the right material.” Patrick says, handing his glasses over as he starts the car.

Their intimacy is Pete’s cotton sweater brushing away fingerprints and smudges on Patrick’s glasses.

Their intimacy is Pete trying (and failing) to put Patrick’s glasses on Patrick himself, and Patrick swatting his hands away, with a laugh, and a “You’re so annoying.”

Their intimacy is Pete changing the station to something Patrick likes even though Pete’s fond of the song on the radio.

* * *

_Oh my love,_

_I know you're used to desperate men._

_Who say the words that others said,_

_For too long and for too often._

“Uh. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Pete says, at 8:45pm on Valentine’s Day. They’re both on the couch, watching an old episode of “The Office”.

Patrick looks over to Pete- they’re sitting side-by-side, and they’re sharing a blanket. Penny’s snoring on the other side of the couch, Bear and Bowie on the floor. “Oh, thanks. You too.”

On the screen, Pam says " _and I feel God in this Chili's tonight_ " and Patrick laughs, burying his face Pete’s chest. He shakes, his hands wrap around Pete’s body, and his laughs sound like… like an angel getting its wings. If that even makes sense.

“That line gets me every time.” He says, with a huge, huge grin on his face when he comes back up.

Pete’s so overcome with love for a guy who laughs at things he’s seen a billion times, for a guy who’s entire body shakes when he laughs, that he physically doesn’t know what to do, but smile.

“I love you.” Pete says, sincerely, so fucking sincerely, as Patrick’s legs tangle with his under the blanket, as Patrick leans against Pete’s body, as Patrick wraps himself around Pete even further, until it feels like they’re one.

“I love you too.” Patrick says back, and his position doesn’t look so comfortable, so Pete shifts so that it is. They watch the Dundies episode. It’s Valentine’s Day. There are some roses Pete had delivered a couple days ago sitting and rotting on the top of the TV mantel so that the dogs don’t eat it. And attached to the card that the roses were delivered with was a simple ‘ _i hope you know i’ll love you until my insides rot – P_ ’

Because Pete really isn’t good with words. But Patrick found it, albeit also kinda creepy, endearing in a way that could only be relative to Pete.

“At least your ‘ _I love you’s_ are never boring.” Was what Patrick had said, as he brought the scentless crimson red "love and passion" roses to his nose. 

* * *

_You're the only one worth seeing._

_The only place worth being._

_The only bed worth sleeping's_

_the one right next to you._

Sleeping never comes easily to Pete. He’s always up, always writing his shitty lyrics at the table on the tour bus, always biting his nails and thinking about things that went wrong, always worrying about things he shouldn’t worry about, always being paranoid.

He lies awake in his bunk, and counts sheep.

He lies awake in his old bed in his parent’s home and searches for the sound of his heart-beat, of the blood pounding in his ears.

He lies awake on the futon in the hotel room.

He lies awake on the couch in the living room.

But he _sleeps_ next to Patrick in _their_ bed.

Pete snores freely, Patrick drools all over Pete’s hair, Pete steals the covers and gets woken up so that they can share them again, Patrick’s bare feet touch Pete’s bare feet, Pete’s arms get thrown over Patrick’s body. The smell of Patrick’s sweat on the pillow fills Pete’s nose.

They have sex underneath the covers and fall asleep without cleaning up because they’re too damn tired. It’s gritty and gross and disgusting and beautiful. Patrick has perfect aim as he throws the condom away in the garbage can next to the bed.

It’s love. Pete would rather be nowhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> me, after writing anything ever: this is not good :/  
> also me, after writing anything ever: *posts it to AO3*
> 
> anyways- saint motel... is a saint. i saw them when they opened for panic! and tbh i didnt even really like them at first but like when they performed i was like SHIT THEY'RE SO GOOD and now i really miss them... like i loved panic! so much but also??! idk... saint motel was so amazing ... PCD is real.
> 
> this also kinda counters everything i believe pete to be, or at least the pete that i write, so this was kinda fun to write. even if i feel like it contradicts itself.


End file.
